2:35 am
by Anonymississippi
Summary: Starts with a line I noticed in Mr. Monk and the Magician... Set during On the Run.Just a little one-shot. It's my first story ever so here goes nothing!


"Sometimes late at night when you call me and I see your name on the caller id, I just…. Um, just don't feel bad." She did feel bad when she didn't answer the phone. But what normal person wants to be called at 2:35 a.m.? And it's always 2:35, never 2:36 or 2:34, because those numbers don't add up to ten. And ten was her boss's favorite number. Inevitably, he would call for a sudden update on tomorrow's weather report or some other thing that could have waited, oh, five hours. It really didn't matter that much, because he always called and he always would. There was one time, though, when she was excited to hear the phone ring at exactly 2:35 am.

It was a few nights after he was supposedly shot. She had been through so much that day already, calling various churches for funeral ceremonies and ordering flowers and doing everything that she shouldn't have to do for one of her best friends. They still hadn't found his body yet, so she still had some time before she finalized anything. Oh God, his body. She didn't think she could handle having to make an identification. Though she wanted to do all she could, she would ask Disher or even the Captain to do it, because she just couldn't bear to see him like that. She hadn't really done much planning ahead. She knew she wouldn't work for him forever, but she never actually thought he would be completely absent. She had pictured him at several events in her life. Julie's graduation was right around the corner, and now he wouldn't be able to see her get her diploma. He helped her study so hard for her last history final. This thought caused a single tear to run down her cheek. She had sent Julie up to her grandparents for the next few days, just so she would be able to do everything she needed to without having to worry about her daughter. She was utterly exhausted, but she couldn't bring herself to go home and sleep. She instead took her cell phone and keys and went driving around the city. Sure enough, she ended up at his apartment. Gosh, this is the last place she needed to be. But she parked and slowly began to walk up the stairs. She removed her keys from her pocket and opened the door. She stepped into the immaculate living area, even though she had only been there hours before packing up some of his things. She made her way through the kitchen, the dining room, and slowly sunk down on the couch in the living room. She looked out the window at nothing in particular. She didn't know why she was here. She had cried all she could cry. She had experienced so many emotions over the last several hours; she came to the one place that still contained his essence. It didn't smell sterile, like some people expected. It did smell clean though, but the nonexistent odor of lemon pledge mirrored the absence of the only tenant. She realized, she couldn't remember what he smelled like. He had been gone for only five days, and yet she couldn't remember his scent. She made her way back to his bedroom.

She had only been in his bedroom a few times. When he was sick or couldn't find something, she would come in and help him in whatever way he needed. She stared at the picture of the beautiful blonde on the nightstand, hoping that maybe now they were together, but truly wishing she had had more personal time with him. She glanced around the room and realized the one thing she was looking for wasn't there. She crossed the room and opened his armoire to reveal his collection of perfectly pressed shirts. She took one of his shirts off of the hangers (she was going to have to pack them anyway) and breathed in its scent. It was clean, of course, but it smelled of his special detergent. Fresh cotton was the scent on the box, but it smelled less crisp than cotton. The warmth of the fabric reminded her of his scent. He always smelled warm, and strangely like cinnamon. She had always known that Trudy liked to sweeten her coffee with cinnamon. So, he always added a little to his coffee in the morning, and kept the scent for the remainder of the day. She held his shirt to her face and sank down in a heap beside the bed and let out a long, shuddering breath. She buried her face in the fabric and tried to dry her tears with the sleeves. She remained in this position for countless hours, feeling nothing and everything at the same time.

She glanced at the clock: 2:27. She'd been over there for four hours, thinking about everything that could have been but now it could never be. She found herself remembering not the quirks that she obsessed about on a daily basis, but the monumental actions he seemed to perform in the midst of a crisis. Foot chases, fast cars, guns, poison, this man had faced so much. And she never got to tell him how amazing he was, or how much he had done for her. Not just her, but Julie too. And if she had the chance, she would tell him exactly how she felt about him….. but there is no chance. It's all over. 2:34. She let her head fall back against his bed and shut her eyes. Seconds passed and her phone started vibrating. A number with some out of state area code was calling her at what… 2:35 in the morning? She hoped against hope for a miracle, so she flipped the phone open.

"Hello?"

Silence. And then a few short breaths.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Everything's going to be alright. "

Click.

She couldn't believe her ears. It had to be him. This was no hallucination, and she knew his voice too well to confuse the call with a wrong number. There was no one else it could have been. She quickly hit *69, but after nine rings, she hung up the phone. The next morning she would attribute it to her fatigue, but for now, she would believe it really was him. She took his shirt and went into the living room and lay down on his couch. Yes, she thought, this was the only time I would want a phone call in the middle of the night. And with the scent of fresh cotton and cinnamon still in the air, she drifted off into a restless sleep. She dreamt of him, and of their time before this chaos started. She could smell him, see him, and knew that he wouldn't flinch when she touched his shoulder.

Somewhere with an out of state area code, a brilliant man was sitting and thinking how great it was to hear her voice.


End file.
